


Memento

by ssclassof56



Series: Then Live With Me and Be My Love [2]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Family, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-22
Updated: 2017-04-22
Packaged: 2018-10-22 15:17:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10699662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ssclassof56/pseuds/ssclassof56
Summary: The children find a grisly relic of their mother’s past.





	Memento

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to LiveJournal's MFU Map Room for a Section7MFU - Short Affair Challenge  
> Prompts: rust / crimson

“Mama!”

A little girl ran across the lawn, chubby legs pumping madly, crimson ribbons fluttering from the ends of her pigtails.

Faustina looked up from her report and pushed her glasses to the top of her head. “Lilenchka, what on earth is the matter?”

Her daughter stopped beside her chair under the tree and gazed at her with grave intensity, her recent tears making her blue eyes unnaturally bright. “There’s blood,” she announced.

“Blood? Where?” Tossing the report aside, Faustina turned her daughter full circle. “You look fine.”

Liliya shook her head. “Léon said.”

Faustina sighed. “Not again. If those boys have been in your father’s lab, I’ll skin them alive.”

“Boom,” Liliya said around her thumb.

“Boom, indeed,” Faustina agreed, retying the bows at the base of her daughter’s brown braids. “Ah, here they come now. Right on schedule.”

Two boys, loose-limbed and tow-headed, crossed the grass at a more sedate pace. Liliya crawled into her mother’s lap as they entered the shade and glared at them balefully.

Faustina looked her sons up and down, seeing no signs of injury. “Well, where’s the blood this time?”

The boys turned to each other, an entire conversation held in the brief meeting of their grey eyes. Léon, ever the spokesman, blew at his bangs and stepped forward. “There was no reason for Lil’ka to be such a crybaby. It’s not like it’s fresh.”

He held out his hand, and Liliya pressed her face into her mother’s blouse. Faustina took the scrap of cardstock from her son. “Lil’, were you playing dress up in my closet?” she asked. The little girl nodded. “Haven’t I told you to stay out of Mama’s special box?”

“You should see the stuff she piled up to reach it,” Sasha said, begrudgingly impressed. He moved to stand at his mother’s shoulder, looking at the calling card clasped delicately between her fingers. An ominous brown stain marred its surface. “I told Léon that it was probably dirt or even rust.”

His brother snorted. “That’s stupid. It’s blood, all right. I bet you pulled it from some Thrushie’s hand right after you shot him, huh, Ma?” Léon collapsed onto the grass as if struck by a bullet and went into protracted death throws.

Faustina put her hand over Liliya’s ear. “Léon, not in front of your sister,” she hissed.

Sasha kicked his twin. “And anyway, if you’re so smart, then why does it have Uncle Alexander’s name on it?” He gestured to the card triumphantly. The black embossed lettering was faded, but still clearly read, ‘Alexander Waverly, New York, New York.’

Léon scrambled to his feet and stood at her other shoulder. “Oh, yeah, I forgot. There’s writing on the back too.”

Faustina turned the card over. Scrawled across the back, almost obliterated by the stain, was ‘Plaza 36098.’

"Is that some kinda secret UNCLE code?” Léon asked excitedly.

“No, stupid, it’s a phone number. Isn’t it, Mama?”

“Yes, clever boy, it is a phone number. Or it used to be. It was your Uncle Alexander’s number.”

At the name of one of her favorite people, Liliya raised her head. “Uncle ‘Xander?” She reached out a hand for the card.

“No, sweeting, that was several years ago, before you were born. I suppose, if you could convince an operator to connect you, that you’d get Uncle Napoleon now.”

She realized her mistake too late. Like mirror images, two heads turned and locked gazes across the chair. “Now, boys, don’t even think about it.”

They weren’t listening. With a whoop, they ran back toward the house, Sasha chanting the number he’d already committed to memory. Faustina sighed and patted the communicator in her pocket, trusting that even the most stalwart international operator would be no match for the determination of the Brothers Kuryakin.

As they reached the terrace, their father came through the doors. The boys danced around him, both talking at once, a cacophony of “plaza” and “Napoleon” and “blood.” Illya stared after them as they ran into the house, then with a shake of the head and a resigned shrug, turned and crossed the lawn.

“Papa!” Liliya cried, launching herself into his arms. She giggled as Illya bent them over so he could give her mother a kiss. “Do I want to know what that was all about?” he asked.

“Probably not, but I’d keep your communicator handy.”

Illya rolled his eyes and smiled. Obeying his daughter’s commands to “Throw me,” he moved them beyond the edge of the shade tree.

Faustina watched them fondly, carefully tucking the gory memento into her pocket. Some day, when they were older, she’d tell the boys its story, how all that she held dear could be traced back to that blood-soaked card and the desperate plea, “Uncle Alex, I need you.”

A two-toned alarm cut through her reverie. “Bee-oop, bee-oop,” Liliya parroted gleefully as Illya tossed her high into the air. Faustina opened her communicator with a grin. “Hello, Napoleon.”


End file.
